


Combaticons on the Lost Light

by naboru



Series: Combaticon IDW AU [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Comedy, Gen, Gen Work, Hints to Dark Themes, Implied Relationships, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naboru/pseuds/naboru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Due to some… unfortunate yet to be discovered circumstances, the Combaticons’ ship almost breaks apart. Lucky for them that the Lost Light gives them a ride… right?</p><p>Set in the beginning of Season 2 - if you haven't read it, head spoilers.</p><p>More characters, warnings, tags etc will be added with future chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> **Continuity:** IDW G1 (MTMTE)  
>  **Content/Warnings** This chapter: gen,  
>  **Characters:** Onslaught, Brawl, Vortex, Rodimus, Ultra Magnus, Megatron, Broadside, Trailcutter, mentions of Blast Off  
>  **Rating:** This chapter: PG  
>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty *glomps* :D
> 
>  **Note:** This is a stupid idea that wouldn’t get out of my head. I’ll post whenever I have something to post. There might be short breaks between chapters, or longer ones. All depending on my muse and the schedule of my beta.
> 
> I hope you’ll have fun reading. ;D
> 
> (Characterisation of the Combaticons varies a little from how I write them usually for the Dysfunction AU. Just throwing this in. :p)

Onslaught stood stiff, his military origin showing when he found himself in front of people that outranked him – even if they’d belonged to the opposite faction in the past.

Next to him Brawl shifted uneasily, glancing around.

On his other side, Vortex kept still. Everything about him was focused on the three most important mechs in the room who were eyeing them up. Two captains, one SIC, Onslaught resisted to dwell on this odd constellation any further.

“Oh, hey,” Brawl broke the tense silence, and raised his hand in a wave, directing it at a black grounder near them. “Hello Trailbreaker, how’s it been?” the tank said with what could have been relief.

Vortex huffed softly. Onslaught kept quiet.

“Uh,” the mech uttered. “It’s Trailcutter nowadays.” 

“Huh? Why?” Brawl asked, and Onslaught knew from Vortex’ twitching rotors that he suppressed a laugh. Trust Brawl to misjudge a situation. He’d never say it aloud, but Onslaught was glad the tank had spoken up. The three mechs in command looked as if they’d relaxed slightly.

Still, Onslaught sighed a reprimand. “Brawl.”

The addressed mech tensed. “Right, sorry boss.”

“Combaticons on the Lost Light,” the smallest of the three Autobots began, “I’m not sure what to think about that.”

Onslaught gave a brief nod. “I’d like to thank you for taking us in, Hot Rod.” His voice was blank. “The hull of our ship wouldn’t have held much longer.”

“It’s Rodimus now,” the mech said.

“Why’s everyone changing names here?” Brawl muttered under a vent of his intakes.

“I doubt that will be the biggest of your problems on this ship,” Ultra Magnus said, and Onslaught directed his visor at him.

“We’re not looking for problems. We are aware that this is,” Onslaught paused, giving the third mech in front of them a strange look, “mostly an Autobot vessel. We’re grateful for the shelter, but hope to be able to rebuild our own ship soon and leave. We don’t want to cause trouble or unrest among your people.”

“Says a Decepticon captain of a special ops unit,” Rodimus cut in as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You scratched off your Decepticon insignias,” the third mech said calmly, “why?”

Brawl’s engine stuttered as he resisted a rev, and Vortex’ tail rotors shuffled. Onslaught merely stared at Megatron, visor brightening for a moment. He refused to answer the warlord.

Magnus frowned – even deeper than before, and Rodimus tipped his head to a side. “Well, yeah, why _are_ your Decepticon symbols scratched off?”

“The war is over. Megatron was supposed to be dead – again, and we hoped he’d stay that way this time,” Onslaught replied, unable to hinder the bitterness and anger crawling into his voice. “There was no reason to stick to a lost cause that went wrong ages ago.”

Megatron snorted drily. “And you never believed in my cause in the first place, did you?”

Vortex’ rotors went stiffer than before, and that was all Onslaught needed to know.

Ultra Magnus and Rodimus exchanged looks, and Onslaught addressed Megatron directly this time. “Let’s say the chains you put on us aren’t as strong as they used to be.” Turning to Rodimus again, he continued. “All I’m asking for are repairs for our ship. If you want us to stand before a Tyrest tribunal, I won’t fight you and I will comply, even though it seems the tribunal doesn’t mean much these days.”

For a long moment, it was quiet, a state that obviously got to Brawl as he started shifting again, and rubbed his lower arm. Vortex remained silent, watching the people that would decide what was about to happen to them.

It was clear to Onslaught that Rodimus and his second in command talked over private communications. If Megatron joined in, he hid it well.

“Your shuttleformer-,” Ultra Magnus began.

“Blast Off,” Megatron threw in, and earned a disapproving look from the Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord.

“Your comrade is still outside, and he’s armed.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, but Onslaught nodded.

“He won’t attack unless I order him to, and that is nothing I plan on doing. He merely… needs to get used to the idea of a crowded space ship. He doesn’t like people.”

“Well, your ship wasn’t big either and he seemed okay travelling with you?” Rodimus said, arms still crossed.

“It’s easier to avoid three people than almost two hundred.”

Apparently, that gave them something to think about again, and over a klik passed before Rodimus spoke up again.

“We’re going to discuss your future more in more detail. Until we made a decision, you’re confined to guarded quarters. Your shuttle friend is allowed to stay outside, but he needs to be aware that we’ll have cannons pointing at him. If he shows any sign of attacking this ship, he’ll be toast.”

Onslaught frowned behind the visor, cocking his head in an unspoken question.

“Toast, like slag… Earth term,” Vortex explained.

Onslaught nodded.

“Broadside, Hot Spot, Trailcutter,” Rodimus ordered, “take them to their quarters.” 

\---

On the way through the corridors of the Lost Light only few Autobots passed them. The ones that did shot them looks and one or two spat an insult, but Onslaught hadn’t expected anything else.

//Vortex, report,// he commed the heliformer on a secure line that was also open to Brawl and Blast Off. They all needed to know.

//Heh, who do you wanna know first?//

//Start with Hot Rod.//

//Leave the best ones for last, eh?// Vortex replied in a tone that could be accompanied by a grin. //He calls himself Rodimus now, and he’s pretty serious about this name change. No idea why and how it happened, but if you want his respect, refer to him as Captain or Rodimus.//

//Rodimus… sounds a little stupid to me,// Onslaught muttered.

//Guess he sees himself as a future Prime.// Vortex shrugged slightly, aware that the eyes of their guards rested on them. //Anyway, he still has an ego as big as Metroplex, but he’s changed from last time we saw him. Which doesn’t mean much because it was ages ago. He despises Megatron, but that’s not a secret. In that room there, everyone hated him, including us.//

Onslaught couldn’t resist the huff puffing from his vents. Broadside turned his head at it, but the Wrecker didn’t say anything.

//Rodimus thinks his position is threatened by Megatron and the air between them is as tense as a rock. He also feels guilty of something, but frag knows what. You want me to find out?//

//No. That’s enough for now. We might not stay on this ship long enough that it would matter. Tell me about Magnus.//

//Oh, that’s a good one.//

Brawl’s head turned to the ‘copter, but he didn’t interrupt him.

//You know Magnus from the early war days?//

Onslaught nodded. //Yes.//

//Heh, yeah, that’s not him.//

Onslaught frowned.

//It’s fragging odd to look at him. I mean, aside from all the changed language and things, it’s like everything he does is dampened. Like some sort of… layers around him, fragging _weird_. I have no idea what it means.//

//You couldn’t find out anything?//

//That’s not what I’m saying. In short: he’s stiff and has as much sense of a humour as Blast Off.//

The shuttle gave a non-committal sound through the comm. Vortex let out a soft snicker before he continued.

//Likes rules as much as you do and if you want to get through to Rodimus, you need to convince him. They have something going on, but I’m not sure about their dynamic, to be honest. But that’s only because those two idiots aren’t either.//

//That was too much information,// Onslaught grumbled as they came to a halt in front of the elevator.

“Oh, nice gun,” Brawl said when Broadside turned. The tank’s visor fixed on the huge weapon. “Who made it?”

The Wrecker seemed uncertain for a moment, but eventually replied shortly. “Brainstorm.”

“Nice one. How did he manage to combine the cables of the energy resource chamber that way without it blowing up?” The tank tilted his head and stepped closer. “Can I see it?”

“Brawl.” Onslaught’s voice was stern and made the tank jump.

“Yeah, right.” He stepped back, looking up at the triple changer. “Sorry, wrong time to ask.”

Broadside uttered a grunt, but it didn’t sound annoyed.

They stepped into the elevator when Vortex addressed them over the comm-link again. //So, you wanna hear about Megatron?//

//You know the answer.// Onslaught tensed in a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

//Heh, he’s afraid of you. Not like he fears for his life, but you’re a relic from his past, and he knows what went wrong. He thinks you could destroy his little chance here with a few words.//

//Chance of _what_ exactly?// Onslaught ground out.

//Absolution? Salvation? Redemption even, considering they’re looking for those Knights? Frag knows. And that’s the thing… he’s scared of something. Maybe of the Autobots finding out about his true intentions or what happens what they find what they’re looking for.//

//What are his intentions? I don’t believe he became an Autobot that willingly without having a plan to eliminate them all.//

Vortex vented air deeply. The elevator door opened, and there were two more Autobots waiting. Brawl raised his hand in another brief wave, addressing a blue grounder that looked at them in confusion.

“Almost there,” Broadside said in a deep voice, and Onslaught wondered if Rodimus had meant the brig when he’d said quarters.

//I can’t confirm your suspicions,// Vortex continued, //but I can’t deny them either. Thing is, whatever he tries to do to make up and stay alive, he believes in it himself. Right now he looks like he convinced himself enough that he’s changed and does it for the greater good. He radiates honesty, but you know me. I know there something else there, hidden, and I will find out. He kept a tight grip on himself because he knew I was staring at him.//

It was hard to resist the condescending huff, but Onslaught managed.

//He also wants you to keep quiet. When he said you never believed in his cause, he was trying to back you up. Like a peace-offer.//

//It’s a bit too late for that now.//

//It is,// Vortex said with this mischievous tone of his. //But it could serve us.//

Onslaught didn’t reply.

In front of them, Trailcutter opened a door on the left, and stepped inside. “That’s your room for now, right next to your companion.” He waved a thumb at the bull eye where outside Blast Off’s plating was visible. The shuttle flew close to the bigger space ship, but wasn’t docking – never touching.

“If he decides to act up, you’re going to be pulverised with him,” Broadside said. “But I'd rather he didn't because I’m gonna stand guard on your door, and I don’t like being blown up.”

Onslaught gave a neutral nod wondering if Rodimus would actually order shooting his own ship.

Brawl only laughed at the Wrecker’s words.

“I like you,” the tank exclaimed and got a quizzical look in return.

Onslaught grinned behind his mask. 

Trust Brawl to misjudge a situation.


	2. Onslaught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung talks to Onslaught. Onslaught talks to Ultra Magnus; they seem to get along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty
> 
>  _This Chapter_  
>  **Content/Warnings** gen  
>  **Characters:** Onslaught, Rung, Ultra Magnus, mentions of others  
>  **Rating:** PG
> 
>  **Note:** This chapter contains mentions of The Transformers (ongoing 2009 – 2011) “For All Mankind”, “The International Incident”, “Police Story” and the RID Annual 2012.  
>  Please heed the spoilers!

“Onslaught, is it?” Rung asked. He looked up from the datapad he’d received from Ultra Magnus. Most of the information wasn’t helpful for his job. He didn’t need the weapon classification of said mech or his known encounters with the Autobots.

He didn’t need any of it right now at least.

His new patient sat in the patient’s chair.

An interesting choice, Rung thought, and sat down in the other one, moving it so that they could look at each other.

“How are you feeling?” Rung began his session with an everyday question. He had yet to find out what he was supposed to work on with this mech – aside from reassuring the captains and Ultra Magnus that they’d made the right decisions concerning the Combaticons.

Onslaught stared at him. If he was confused, Rung couldn’t see it because his visor and battle mask hid his face. After almost a klik, he nodded.

“I assume this is the opening question where I assure you I’m fine and you tell me everything I say will be dealt with the utmost medical discretion.”

“You’re familiar with this process then?” Rung said, not letting his surprise show.

“No,” the Decepticon – ex-Decepticon? – replied calmly. “But I learned a thing or two from the best there is.”

“I’m intrigued. From whom did you learn?”

“Vortex.”

That took Rung off-guard with no way of stopping letting his confusion show. “Vortex? But he’s said to be an interrogator.”

Onslaught huffed, the noises of the vents almost as loud as from Fortress Maximus. “Is interrogation and what you do really so different?”

“Well,” Rung leant back, eyeing the mech in front of him. “The purpose and reason are definitely not the same.”

“But here you are, trying to get information from me. And in our case, the word interrogation is more fitting than counselling, isn’t it?” Onslaught didn’t seem annoyed, but amused rather. “But as long as they don’t put a bullet through my head or those of my people if I talk to you, I’m happy to do that.”

Rung uttered a soft laugh. It was no wonder this mech had been high-ranking in the Decepticon army.

“I’m glad to hear you’re not averse to our conversation and future sessions, but you still haven’t answered my question: how are you feeling?”

Another klik of silence passed, but Onslaught didn’t try to distract from the query any longer.

“Cornered. I’m on a space ship full of Autobots. I fought them for millions of years, killed their friends, and they know it. We’re not welcome, and that’s what _we_ know. The war might be over, but not for them, otherwise they wouldn’t still cling to their faction.”

“I understand.” Rung intertwined his fingers and rested his chin on his hands.

“Do you really?” Onslaught asked. 

Rung tensed. This time it was he who diverted from the topic. He’d have plenty of time to go deeper during the next sessions.

“What can you tell me about your team before I speak to them?”

Onslaught uttered this familiar huff again that reminded Rung of Ultra Magnus on a good day.

“Brawl is easy-going, lively, loud. He’s not very bright, but has his moments.” Onslaught gave a shrug. “He likes high-grade and bad jokes, and Vortex gets him way too easily to do things that get them both in trouble.”

Rung listened. It was interesting how the former Decepticon spoke of his people.

“What else?”

“Brawl respects worthy opponents, is disillusioned, and is loyal to me. Swindle-” Onslaught paused. He shifted on the chair, his visor brightening slightly. Rung didn’t interrupt him. “Swindle doesn’t matter.”

That statement told Rung everything he needed to know about their relationship.

“Vortex?” Rung said. “I’m curious, since you said he’s the best.”

Onslaught nodded. “Vortex is dangerous, and not just during battle. Like I said, he’s doing the same thing you do, but for different reasons. A fair warning from me: don’t let him play with you.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” Rung sat up straight again. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“He is manipulative, backhanded, and sadistic. He has sociopathic tendencies-“ Onslaught stopped again, as though trying to measure what he should or should say. “He’s loyal to me.”

With a nod, Rung accepted the information and filed it away. Onslaught’s tone when talking about Vortex had been very different to the one he used to describe Brawl.

“And Blast Off? I want to talk to him, too, once he decides to come inside.”

Onslaught shook his head slightly, but Rung couldn’t tell if from amusement or annoyance. His tone was blank when he spoke again, making it difficult to give a hint to his relationship to the shuttleformer.

“He’s aloof, like most shuttles, doesn’t like people and talking. You’ll have a hard time getting anything out of him.”

“But he follows your orders?”

“He does. He’s loyal to me.” Onslaught responded, his tone leaving no doubt that there wasn’t anything else he’d say about the shuttle.

Rung let the information sink in for a moment, let the words repeat in his head. He would have lots of work to do with those four.

Eventually, Rung continued their conversation. “When you said they’re loyal to you, did you mean-“

“They’re loyal to me, not to Megatron.” Onslaught interrupted.

“I see.” Watching the Commander closely, Rung knew from everything the other radiated what the answer to his next question would be. Still, he needed to hear it. “Where does your loyalty lie?”

Onslaught didn’t move, but his voice changed slightly, a hardly audible aggression beneath the calmness.

“Myself.”

\---

Onslaught strolled down the corridors of the Lost Light. They were empty, and he’d quickly learned that most people were at Swerve’s at this time. He also guessed that since he and his team weren’t restricted to quarters any longer, Brawl might be there.

The tank never said no to high grade, and shortly before the incident with their space ship he’d run out. Onslaught uttered an annoyed grunt when he thought about it all.

Onslaught stopped in front of Magnus’ door, and pinged the SIC.

Reporting to him had been one of the rules they had to follow for being allowed to move mostly freely through the Lost Light. The other two rules were the mandatory sessions with their psychiatrist and handing over all their guns.

Vortex had been very happy about this certain aspect of phrasing, and Onslaught had been glad his whole team wore face masks to hide the grins that most certainly had been there.

The door slid open and revealed the very tidy and clean office of Ultra Magnus.

Onslaught was not surprised.

He was surprised that Brawl was standing in front of the desk, fidgeting slightly and hiding the broad frame of the SIC.

“Onslaught,” Brawl said as he turned, relief in his voice.

The commander gave a brief nod, and stepped closer when Magnus kept quiet. He didn’t need to talk when Brawl let his mouth run.

“Just finished reporting here. Though, there’s nothing to report, really,” Brawl spoke hastily, and added even more quickly, “not that it’s a bad thing or something.”

“Brawl,” a stern voice interrupted the tank, but it wasn’t Onslaught’s this time. “You’re dismissed.”

Onslaught knew Brawl frowned behind his visor, looking at him.

“You’re dismissed,” Onslaught repeated the Autobot’s words, and only then the tank moved.

“Sure thing,” he said, and gestured a lazy wave when it looked like not being able to leave the office quickly enough.

“You trained your team well.” Ultra Magnus stared at Onslaught who gave a shrug. He wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a compliment. This was Ultra Magnus after all.

“They’re good soldiers.”

“If you read their profiles, you’d think so. Unfortunately, we only gained experiences of their abilities from the other side of the battlefield. Please,” Ultra Magnus gestured towards a chair near the desk, “take a seat.”

“I’m not sure what I could report that requires me to be seated,” Onslaught said, but sat down anyway. He leant against the back rest and tilted his head slightly.

Magnus merely nodded. “I’m not a person fond of small talk, so I will come straight to the point.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Swindle,” was all Ultra Magnus said.

The commander’s visor darkened, his frame tensed. It wasn’t a name he wanted to hear. “He’s not with us if that was what you wanted to know. Your people searched our space ship.”

“I want to know where he is, and why he’s not with you.”

Onslaught frowned. A gesture the other couldn’t see because of his visor and how the light was set in the room. For once, Onslaught was glad about it, even though he doubted it’d made Ultra Magnus come to any conclusions.

He wasn’t Vortex.

“As far as I know, he’s on Cybertron. We left after some Metrotitan declared Starscream of all people the harbinger of peace for Cybertron. Swindle didn’t come with us.”

Onslaught remembered the event well. Blast Off had been on the Metrotitan site with some other Decepticons. The shuttle had seen Starscream entering the hole in the ground. When later the seeker had proclaimed being chosen for whatever purpose, they’d decided that it was a good time to leave. They weren’t the most religious people, and certainly not convinced by the lord of treachery.

They’d never asked Swindle, hadn’t even spoken to the mech after Earth.

“I see.” Ultra Magnus dragged Onslaught back to the present time. “Why did you leave him?”

“Why do you want to know?” It was Onslaught’s turn to ask.

“There are still pending charges against him. And you are responsible for his actions as well if he’s part of your team.”

“Stop right there,” Onslaught spat, unable to hinder the anger in his voice. “He was never a real part of us. If you want to blame his money seeking issues on us-“

“Then what? Are you threatening me?”

Onslaught huffed. “No, but then we’ll leave for Cybertron and drag that greedy idiot in here to confess to you.”

“How would you do that with your damaged ship.” Ultra Magnus stared at him, certainly not open for jokes. “I saw it. It’s pretty bad.”

Onslaught didn’t reply. They still had Blast Off, and while he was too small right now, it could be changed. Not that Onslaught was very fond of the idea of riding inside him, but if he had no other choice…

“And I never said I’m blaming you for Swindle’s ‘business’ with aliens, but it made me wonder how you could allow it.”

“Like I said,” the commander said with a stern voice, “he was never a real part of the Combaticons.”

“Why did you let him lead you on Earth then?” The way Ultra Magnus spoke made Onslaught itch. He felt like being interrogated. He’d have liked Vortex to be at his side right now.

“He claimed to get along well with aliens,” Onslaught answered truthfully. There was no reason to lie. “Which we both know he does. I gave him a chance. He messed up and left us with the mess. We haven’t talked to each other since.”

The talk about the chaos that happened on Earth wasn’t something Onslaught liked to be reminded of. It came with the memories of Brawl and Vortex mocking him for him needing Swindle to come up with a plan. After the salesmech had left them in favour of creating his own gestalt, Onslaught had had to improvise. He utterly hated to improvise.

Ultra Magnus didn’t need to know all of that, but from the measured look the mech gave him, he might have to tell everything.

“Why do you want to know?” Onslaught repeated his earlier question.

“You already asked that.”

“As far as I know, you’re not longer duly-appointed enforcer of the Tyrest Accord.” To Onslaught’s understanding, Ultra Magnus didn’t have the rights to arrest anyone any more.

“How do you know?” Ultra Magnus seemed surprised.

“The title is missing from the sign on your door and on your desk.” Onslaught wouldn’t have noticed it himself, but Vortex had mentioned it to him earlier. “And I think if you were still the duly-appointed officer, you’d have arrested us rather than let us walk around freely, no matter what Article 7 of the Autobot Code says.”

Now Ultra Magnus showed his confusion openly. His optics flickered once, and narrowed as he asked, “You know the Autobot Code?”

“I just started reading it,” Onslaught explained and gave a one-sided shrug. When Ultra Magnus didn’t seem satisfied with the answer, he continued. “It’s one of the files we have access to from the consoles in our rooms. I don’t have much else to do. Your scientists won’t let us near our ship to begin with the repairs.”

“And you started reading it?” A hint of disbelief in Ultra Magnus’ voice as he said it.

“Well, I did, yes.” Onslaught wasn’t sure what the mech was getting at. “Unfortunately you can’t expect the same from the rest of my team. They’re not much interested in reading.” Another shrug. “Blast Off is, but he only reads scientific texts and reports.”

“I’m not expecting your team to read it. I’m just surprised. Not even Megatron had read the code.”

Onslaught grinned. Did he hear an edge of bitterness and disapproval in the mech’s tone?

Uttering a huff, the former Decepticon shook his head. “I guess Megatron is not the great writer and reader he once was before he became a tyrant.”

Ultra Magnus’ optics brightened for a moment. “My sentiment exactly.”

Later, when he left, Onslaught had the feeling he and Magnus would get along better than he'd expected.


	3. Brawl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung gets to know Brawl, and Brawl gets to know Swerve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter:** 3/?  
>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty 
> 
> _This Chapter_  
>  **Content/Warnings** gen, comedy  
>  **Characters:** Rung, Brawl, Swerve, Ten  
>  **Rating:** PG  
>  **Summary:** Rung gets to know Brawl, and Brawl gets to know Swerve.
> 
>  **Note:** Mentions of The Transformers (ongoing 2009 – 2011) “Police Story”, MTMTE “Remain in Light” and issue #29.

When Rung rounded the corner, his patient was already waiting for him.

The tank paced with loud steps, and rubbed the treads of his upper arm nervously.

“Brawl, I take it?” Rung said, offering a nod as he walked closer.

The tank whirled around. “Uh, yeah.”

“You’re early for your appointment.” Rung smiled. “Could you make room, I’d like to open the door.”

“Yeah, sure, sorry.” Brawl stepped away from the door, and shrugged. “Ons said I need to be on time. Usually I’m late, you know. He gets always fragged off about that.”

“I appreciate that you’re early then, and will remember your words.” Rung was still smiling. The door slid aside and he sent a ping to the lights. “Take a seat or lie down. Choose what you’re most comfortable with.”

The tank uttered an acknowledging grunt, and carefully stepped into the room, as though he expected to be attacked.

“So,” Brawl said, standing between the berth and the patient’s chair. “You’re Rung then.”

Rung nodded, positively surprised on not to having to correct his name.

“But you’re so tiny.” Brawl still stood, appearing not to know what to do while his plating shifted minutely. 

Rung took out a datapad as he sat down. “I don’t think I understand the connection between my occupation and my body size.”

Brawl shrugged, the barrel on his back shifting slightly. “I dunno,” he muttered, and eventually settled to sit on the berth, looking at Rung with his orange visor. “If you have that job, shouldn't you be, like, twice the size of everyone else? I mean you’re poking people’s heads.”

At that, Rung had to laugh softly. “Well, I’m not doing it literally.”

Brawl made an undefined gesture with his hand and gave a one sided shrug. “Yeah, ‘course,” he muttered, and seemed to be trying to figure out his next words. “But poking people’s issues isn’t much different, is it? At least you’d have to be stronger than them?”

Rung tensed at the reminder of the incident with Fort Max and Whirl. Trying to cover his reaction, he shifted on the chair and crossed his legs. He also remembered Onslaught’s words about the tank: not very bright, but he had his moments. The psychiatrist wondered if this was one of them.

“Why do you think so?” he asked, keeping his voice even but curious. He didn’t admit that the other’s words had made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want another incident, especially not with a Decepticon tank.

Another shrug with a shifting barrel. “Just a thought. I mean, for example, if you talk to Blast Off and ask the wrong stuff, he snaps. Like, literally, he turns you into a puddle of metal goo if you overdo it.”

Rung tilted his head. “Literally? You mean figuratively, I take it.”

“Eh, no, no. Literally, as in he does it. For real.” Brawl scratched his threads again. “Sometimes I wonder how Vortex is still alive.”

Rung gave a minute nod, and made a few notes on his datapad. It was interesting what the tank gave away with his last statement.

The team’s shuttle apparently was a very antisocial personality. Rung was curious about his relationship with Brawl, who appeared rather easy-going even if currently nervous.

“I can’t imagine your shuttle comrade is that bad. You are a team after all. He wouldn’t hurt one of you, would he?” Rung smiled openly at the tank, encouraging him to talk.

“Uh, not sure about that.” Another scratch of the threads. “It’s Blast Off, you know. He’s like the personification of grumpiness. Well, most of the time. He vents people into space if they don’t listen to him.”

Rung listened closely. The tank sounded almost disappointed, maybe even sad about that fact.

“Did he vent you into space?”

Brawl shook his head. “Frag no. I know better than to bother him when he’s in that kind of mood. But he vented out another guy once. Tick something. Can’t remember the name.”

“I see. Well,” Rung shifted on his chair into an opener position to radiate trust and understanding. “It must be hard for Cybertronians who transport other Cybertronians, and have people resided inside of them. Especially if it’s in space over a longer duration. He probably had his reasons to overreact.”

Brawl just looked for a moment. “Uh, we weren’t inside Blast Off. It was a normal Decepticon cruiser. And it’s not really overreacting, you know.”

“Do you want to tell me about the incident?” Rung had the feeling Brawl wanted to, for whatever reason. It was his job to find out.

“There’s not much to tell.” Once more, the tank’s shoulders twitched in a shrug before he rubbed his treads. “The guy was one of Banzaitron’s. We never got really along, his crew and us, you know.” Brawl shuffled on the berth and started swinging his legs. “He touched Blast Off, the other mech, not Banzaitron, and touching the shuttle is an off-thing. Like, you don’t do that, okay. I mean not just because he says he doesn’t like it, but-“ Brawl stopped. His battle mask moved, but he didn’t finish the sentence. Instead he vented. “Anyway. The guy fragged off Blast Off, and Blast Off threw him through an air lock during a quantum jump. And that’s it.”

Rung watched, observed the other, took in the tone and yet another shrug, his plating shifting tight around his endoskeleton.

“Do you feel guilty?” Rung wanted to know, because everything about Brawl looked like it.

“No, not really. Why should I? I didn’t vent him out?” The optics behind the visor brightened. “I just… I dunno. Blast Off isn’t bad, you know. I get why he does and says those things.”

Rung tilted his head. That wasn’t the reason he’d had in mind, but the answer was still very interesting. “When did the incident happen?”

“Uh, dunno. Two million years ago or something.”

Rung made some notes, and looked back at Brawl again, still smiling slightly. “Much time has passed. Blast Off could have changed during that time. It seems he never vented one of you into space?”

At that, Brawl uttered a dry snort. “Blast Off doesn’t change. He hates change.”

“But everyone changes over time.”

“Not the shuttle.” Brawl uttered that snorting noise again. “That’s a thing I learnt. I’ve learnt four things since I started flying around the universe with the team…” the tank trailed off, looking at the spaceship collection, then back at Rung.

“And those are?” Rung encouraged carefully, because he wanted to know.

“Uh, I’m not sure I can tell you.” Brawl stared at Rung.

“You can tell me. Since I talk to all of you, I’d probably find it out by myself sooner or later.” Rung leant back, and smiled a little more. “If you told me, you would actually be helping me.”

The tank took another moment, the visor dimming and brightening alternatively. Then, before he spoke, he laughed again, a bellowed sound and much too loud for the room. “Guess you have a point. And they’re kinda funny, too.” Shifting on the berth to get comfortable, Brawl leant his elbows on his knees as he leant down. His voice was less loud when he started speaking, as if he was telling secrets.

“First thing I learnt: never ask Swindle about Monacus. Like, seriously, never. He’ll show you all the guns he has in his compartments and you’ll be at the receiving end of their barrels. You’d be surprised how many guns fit into his small frame.” Brawl giggled gleefully, and even Rung had to grin a little. He knew the planet the tank spoke of.

“Next thing is about Ons, or more like his plans. They never go wrong, like ever. If they go wrong, and he improvises, it’s all part of the plan and he planned the plan to go wrong. You really don’t want to tell him he didn’t plan well enough.”

Rung made some notes, and would remember that the next time he had Onslaught in his office.

“Third thing is Vortex: his glue gun is energy field locked. Do not attempt to use it.”

Rung pretended to rub his nose to hide the slight laugh at that image. He didn’t exactly know what a glue gun did, but the name and the consequences of misuse gave him an image.

“And the last thing you learnt is about Blast Off I take it?” Rung said with an amused tone he couldn’t hinder from entering his voice.

Brawl nodded. “Yup. I learnt that there are two constants in the universe: the speed of light, and Blast Off.”

Rung looked and understood. He still didn’t think no one ever changed, but he didn’t tell the tank. But if it was true, then the Combaticon shuttle would be an interesting subject to work with.

“Everything you mentioned says much about your team mates. What is special about you?”

“Special about me?” Brawl seemed surprised. “Nothing, really.”

Rung gave the other another moment, and just wanted to ask something else when Brawl continued with a laugh. “I just like explosions.”

\---

The Lost Light was a maze of hallways and elevators. It was nothing like the ship the Combaticons had occupied before. That had only had three floors and the engine deck.

But the Combaticons’ ship hadn’t needed to have space for two hundred and something people.

And it also hadn’t had a bar where you could get an infinite amount of high grade. Or at least more high grade than Brawl had ever been able to distil on their own ship.

If only it was easier to find this bar he’d heard of.

Brawl was about to lose his patience, but he also didn’t dare look for someone to ask. He knew he was on an Autobot ship, and he certainly wasn’t an Autobot. It didn’t matter that they’d scratched off their Decepticon insignias. After all those aeons of war, he doubted people would like to show him the way to their bar.

It was a little disappointing because Brawl would love to get back to a normal life with normal people without having to fight - even though he didn’t mind a good brawl now and then.

Maybe if he bought a round in that bar, people would be more open towards them. Brawl didn’t count on Onslaught to care about those things, and even less on Vortex. He knew the ‘copter too well.

With a sigh, Brawl rounded another corner and looked up his cash. He still had almost all of the money Swindle had given him from making profit from those Megatron-guns for humans.

Counting his Shanix, Brawl almost missed the sign saying 'Swerve’s' that pointed into the direction of the bar.

Finally.

Brawl grinned behind his mask as he followed the directions, wondering why it was so quiet and the corridors so empty. He’d thought a bar in a ship with that many people would be louder. Maybe no one would be there because the high grade was bad, Brawl thought, and his steps slowed for a moment.

He shrugged to himself. Bad high grade was still better than none.

Once he arrived in front of the open door, he stared at the guard. The mech had loads of dents in his armour, and arrows stuck out everywhere.

“Ten,” he said.

Brawl tilted his head, and decided he was an it when a quick scan revealed it was insentient. The guard drone didn’t react to him other than repeating the number again, and so Brawl peeked inside.

Carefully, he looked around, and found that it was unnecessary to be careful.

The bar was indeed empty.

Brawl resisted a sigh. So much for his plan to buy people high grade to make them less hostile.

He squeezed part the drone, and stepped into the room. Drinking alone wasn’t fun, but still more fun than not drinking at all. Maybe Vortex would join him if it stayed empty like this.

“Is anyone here?” Brawl asked, walking to the counter, but even there was no one to be seen. He frowned, and slowly got the feeling that Trailbreaker – Trailcutter – had been lying to him about a bar.

There were high grade canisters in different colours, and Brawl was tempted to get himself a cube. He was just about to do that when a small Autobot showed up. Red and white and with a gun… or something.

“What do you want in here?” the mech said, voice high pitched and seemingly on the verge of panic. Brawl raised his hands in defence.

“Nothing,” he said, feeling naked when he didn’t have a weapon himself. He could convert to alt-mode, but that wasn’t wise. “I mean, I don’t want nothing. I kinda want a drink,” Brawl continued, eyeing the colourful weapon that was smaller than a usual blaster but still too big for the other’s hands.

“Ha, right! And if I turn around, you’re gonna kill me!”

Brawl shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re a Decepticon. As in _deception_.” The mech waved the blaster around that Brawl had the urge to step back even further. At this rate, he’d shoot the ceiling at best, and the tank wasn’t fond of getting rubble on his head.

“But I’m not a Decepticon any more. See.” Brawl pointed at the scratched part of his armour where once his insignia had been. “And if I kill you, who would give me a drink?”

“I’m not giving drinks away for free.”

“I can pay,” Brawl offered, and was beginning to feel a little stupid. He let his hands sink and sighed loudly. “Look, I know we’re gonna have a rough time on here. I mean me and my team, and I just wanna get drunk and not kill people.”

The minibot let the blaster sink slightly, and tipped his head to a side.

“I’m actually happy the war is over, okay,” Brawl continued and made an opening gesture with his arms. “Like, some of my really good old friends are Autobots, okay? It’s nice to be able to talk to them again without being held at gunpoint, you know. Can I get a drink now?”

“Ha, right. _We_ aren’t friends, and you’re a Combaticon.”

The other raised the weapon again, and now Brawl could see the writing on it, 'My First Blaster'. It confused the tank, but he didn’t say anything about it.

“Yeah, I’m a Combaticon.” It wasn’t like that was a good thing. Sometimes it’d felt like it was an insult when other Decepticons had used the team name.

“Why should I believe you have friends here?”

Brawl shrugged. “You can ask Trailbreaker. I mean, Trailcutter. He told me about the bar. And Skids. I saw Skids is on the ship, too. You know Skids?” Grinning behind the mask at the thought of aforementioned mechs, Brawl’s tension eased off a little. It’d be cool to drink with all the guys again.

The minibot let his Blaster drop down a little, and the broad mouth became even broader as he grinned. “You know Skids?”

“Yeah, from before the war.” Brawl dared step a little closer again. “You have the biggest mouth I’ve ever seen,” he said before he could stop himself, and tensed again.

To his surprise, the minibot didn’t seem angry; he laughed, the weapon vanished somewhere beneath the counter. “Better than no mouth at all, plate-head.”

“I do have a mouth beneath there,” Brawl insisted. He let his mask retract and stuck out his glossa.

“Well, now that you convinced me that you’re a potential customer with a mouth, how about a drink?”

“That’s why I’m here.” Brawl was just about to sit down when Swerve crossed his arms.

“How about you get the first drink free if you help me set up the bar and take the chairs of the tables? It’s not open yet after all.”

“But the door was open.” Brawl kept standing, and looked back, noticing a few chairs that weren’t on the ground when others seemed to have been bolted to the floor.

“Yeah, well, I don’t really have a door any more since the drama with Tyrest, so it’s always open.” Swerve shrugged, and started wiping the counter clean. “Ten stands guard. I’m surprised he let you in.”

“Ten?”

“The Legislator guy, I call him Ten.” Swerve nodded towards the entry, and Brawl glanced at the drone.

He’d never heard of Legislators and didn’t know what the Tyrest drama had been. He didn’t ask about that, but said the other thing that came to mind. “Why is there a nine on his back?”

Swerve huffed, the grin wavered for a moment before it returned again. “Because he only says ‘ten’.”

Brawl looked back at the minibot, his optics flickering twice as he processed the information.

After four astroseconds, he laughed loudly.


	4. Vortex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung tries to make sense of Vortex. Vortex tries not to get in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty 
> 
> _This Chapter_  
>  **Content/Warnings** gen, manipulation, hints to dark themes, minor fighting  
>  **Characters:** Rung, Vortex, Whirl, Trailcutter, Blast Off  
>  **Rating:** PG

The heliformer lay on the berth, kneading his hands over his front, being quiet aside from the occasional shift of plating.

He hadn’t spoken yet.

Rung had introduced himself and had offered for the other to get comfortable. With a nod, Vortex had chosen the berth, but unlike Brawl, he didn’t just sit on it.

His red visor was fixed on the ceiling.

Rung couldn’t make out any movement behind it, whether the optics roved or focused on only one point. It would have been interesting to know.

“So, Vortex,” Rung said, addressing the mech by his name, hoping it’d make him open up and less nervous. “How are you feeling?”

The visor brightened slightly. Shoulders twitched with the smallest hint of a shrug. It reminded Rung of Red Alert.

“Good, I guess?” The heliformer didn’t sound convinced. “I’m well fuelled and not damaged. We were allowed to enter a safe space before our ship could break apart, and we survived.” He paused for a moment. “I guess I’m feeling good.”

Rung nodded. “That wasn’t what I meant.” He phrased it as a statement without judgement or inquiry. He didn’t want to push the heliformer.

Rung knew he should be wary. Onslaught had told him so, and Magnus’ report and information on Vortex wasn’t helping either. On paper, the mech seemed to be a ruthless killer and a sadistic and manipulative interrogator. But there on the berth, Rung only saw a broken person. By the war maybe, or by the countless Decepticon infighting that definitely had taken place over the eons. 

Vortex had stopped kneading his hands, his fingers now clenching at his arms, at the mounts where his weapons had been. He wasn’t allowed guns on the Lost Light; Rung understood the reason why, but did Vortex?

“You miss your weapons,” Rung said again in a neutral voice, but with an edge that he expected an answer.

Vortex tensed visibly. His fingers clutching even harder around his arms. Turning his head for the first time, the red visor gleaming then dimming again, Vortex stared at Rung for a moment. The rotor blades on the berth twitched, producing a scraping sound.

“ _Everyone_ on this ship is an Autobot.” So few words, but they carried enough meaning.

Rung tensed as well, and remembered Onslaught’s other words about being a Decepticon – a former Decepticon – on an Autobot ship. And everyone was an Autobot, even Megatron.

Of course, that had to be scary.

“I’m nervous,” Vortex continued without further pushing. “I feel like I’m at all your mercy. I can’t protect myself.” The heliformer turned his head back to the ceiling. The rotors shuddered, and intakes hitched.

“I’m sorry you’re feeling like this, but no one will do you any harm,” Rung said, but the only reaction he earnt was Vortex turning his head anew with a swift movement.

“How can you think that? Four million years of war, and now you keep my weapons from me in an enemy ship. If I don’t have weapons, it only means to them I’m more vulnerable. I’m easier to hurt.”

Rung shifted on the chair into a different position. It was Red Alert all over again – well, after approximately their 150 session.

“Rung,” Vortex said, more quietly and with a hint to urgency. How the other produced his name made the psychiatrist listen more closely.

“Yes?” he replied when Vortex didn’t add anything after a few astroseconds.

“You could convince them.” Vortex moved on the berth. He raised himself a little and shuffled his rotors down to roll to his side. He was intensely staring now.

“Convince them of what?” Rung tried not to feel uncomfortable, but the red visor seemed as though he was looking right through him. He was glad he wore his goggles.

“To give me my weapons back.” The rotor blades shifted again, two tips appearing behind Vortex over his hip. “It’d make me feel safe.”

Rung frowned.

 _He is manipulative, backhanded, and sadistic._ That was how Onslaught had described his soldier.

Manipulative… Rung couldn’t shake the feeling that, even though he shouldn’t doubt the honesty of his patients, this one was lying.

Sadistic… Rung didn’t want to imagine why Vortex wanted his weapons back. There were so many Autobots on here. So many former enemies, and the former Decepticon leader.

Who knew, maybe this was all a farce, and all the Combaticons wanted to do was kill the person that betrayed their cause.

Backhanded… or Vortex didn’t need a reason at all.

“Your commander warned me about you.” Rung leant back against his chair, his voice even and neutral.

“Warned you?” Vortex's interest appeared to be piqued, but Rung wouldn’t satisfy his curiosity.

“Why do you want your weapons back?”

“I told you already,” Vortex said, and sat up. He didn’t sound so insecure any more, and something sinister had crept into the atmosphere of the room. “It would make me feel safe. It would make me feel _better_.” The red visor brightened and stayed at that setting. “You’re a doctor. Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better?”

Rung didn’t only lean back, but pressed himself against the backrest of the chair. Suddenly the office appeared too small, the distance from the heliformer not enough.

“I’m also responsible for my patient hurting themselves, or someone else.”

Vortex uttered a sound that was a cough laugh, partly bitter, partly something Rung couldn’t decipher. He got off the berth, and moved quickly.

Rung couldn’t act fast enough and was caged in with Vortex’ hands on the arm rests. The other’s face was much too close, and only now Rung realised how tall the other was. Vortex had looked smaller than Brawl and Onslaught, but he was still taller than most Autobots with ground based alt-modes, and definitely taller than Rung. His frame and metal was solid, durable - and made for war.

There was no violence, and no vocal threat, but Rung expected it, and was proven wrong.

“But I wouldn’t use them. I wouldn’t hurt you.” Vortex spoke evenly, neutral, just like Rung had before. He leant down a little further, and their energy fields touched briefly. “I’d thank you,” Vortex continued more softly. His field flared stronger, rasping against Rung’s all hot and heady and promising.

The psychiatrist drew his own close, out of reach of Vortex’. He knew he should say something, but he had no chance, because Vortex wasn’t done yet.

“I’d make _you_ feel good.” The heliformer’s voice was teasing now, the hint of static maybe Rung’s imagination, but it was just as wrong as the sensation of their energy fields meeting.

Rung didn’t move.

Vortex just stared.

After what was like millennia, Vortex broke away. The dark figure vanished from Rung’s field of vision, and all he heard was a soft chuckle before the door of his office slid shut behind Vortex.

The heliformer was gone, and Rung had no idea what had just happened.

\----------------

Vortex was annoyed.

He hadn’t got his weapons back, and only because Onslaught had warned the tiny Autobot about him. Why the frag had his commander done that? It wasn’t like Vortex didn’t have a reputation the other hadn’t heard of from other Autobots. But those tales could have been said to be exaggerated. Vortex could have convinced Rung that they weren’t all true.

But if the warning came from Vortex’ own superior, yeah, that was hard to talk his way out of.

And on top of that, the ship was loud.

Not the ship itself, but its people. So many of them, and Vortex’ processor was screaming.

The heliformer kept his optics on the ground, avoiding looking at people. It didn’t help with the chatter, and while it was entertaining and informative, it was only overheard snatches without much context.

Some conversations were about them, him, and ebbed as soon as he was close. As if Vortex wouldn’t notice his team was the number one topic of gossip right now.

He’d heard someone say something about Brawl – “the tank” – having gone to Swerve’s, and that they should look after the mech. Vortex doubted they meant Brawl, but whoever Swerve was.

He couldn’t remember a mech of that name, and Vortex had an ace memory core. He never forgot anyone he’d ever met, and could even tell who someone was when they’d changed their names and frame. It was his thing, and part of the reason Onslaught had chosen him for his team.

Among other things he didn’t want to remember, but would never be able to forget.

Vortex ignored all around him on his way to his quarters, or tried his best to do so.

Brawl would be okay on his own. He was good at making friends with his easy-going and sometimes naïve way of approaching people.

The corridor that Vortex entered was finally less busy. It was soothing on his working processor, and he relaxed, not having realised how tense he’d been. Only a few more minutes, and he’d be in his quarters.

Before Vortex had seen Rung, he had been looking forward to see Onslaught, but now, he didn’t want to meet him.

Thankfully, Vortex shared his room with Blast Off – or no one right now, because the shuttle was still in space. The silence there would do him good, even though he hated being alone sometimes.

But Vortex would rather be alone than go to Onslaught after his betrayal, wouldn't he?

The heliformer’s steps slowed. He actually wasn’t so sure about that.

“Hey, psycho copter!” someone yelled, and made Vortex stop thinking about his dilemma.

Vortex came to a halt. When he looked up, the first thing he saw was the yellow optic of an empurata victim.

“Psycho copter,” someone else said. “You’re one to talk…” It was Trailcutter who came up to Jetstream, or rather Whirl. Vortex’ engine growled.

All those name changes fragged him off.

“What do you want?” He tensed again, optics zooming in on the clawed mech, taking in everything he could.

Whirl was angry, but Vortex knew the Wrecker – whereas knowing after his empurata meant he’d seen him a few times in battle. Him being angry didn’t mean anything.

“You’re a Decepticon, and I’m a Wrecker, you think we just can walk past and not fight? Unmovable object and unstoppable force and this slag.” Whirl rose to his full height, the cannons of his alt-mode sticking out, and Vortex had the urge to grab them. To fling the mech around and against the wall and force Whirl to test if those clawed hands would be able to grip tight enough to choke his own, thin throat.

But Vortex didn’t move. He resisted acting on the thoughts running through his head that he knew would make the tension ebb.

“Whirl…” Trailcutter mumbled, shifting his weight. He was uncomfortable, and wanted to be somewhere else. Vortex didn’t blame him.

“I’m not a Decepticon any more. And you’re not a Wrecker.” Vortex’ voice was blank, imitating Blast Off in the hope to keep things calm.

“How do you know about that?” Whirl was taken aback, but only for a few astroseconds. He leant closer, his energy field fluctuating with the need to lash out.

“I’m Intelligence. It’s my job to know.”

“Whirl, don’t,” Trailcutter tried again, but to no avail.

“Heh, course you know.” Whirl crossed his mutilated arms, and tipped his ugly head to a side. “I had a friend you took some information from. He was pretty battered when we found him. Guess this is the right moment I pay you back.”

The strain in Whirl’s body changed, and Vortex’ processor screamed danger at him.

He should leave, just let the two mechs stand there and go his own way.

Onslaught had told him not to push it, to keep a low profile and not aggravate anyone too much. Keep out of fights, don't start anything, he'd said with a tense expression, stern.

If they didn't, they'd be on their own - without his back-up. If they landed in brig and their ship was ready, he wouldn't bail them out. Not this time, this was the only chance they got.

Onslaught had been strict about it, and almost believed it himself. But Vortex knew it wasn't true. He wouldn't leave them behind. He was loyal to them, like they were loyal to him, always had been.

They were team.

They had never been the most popular of mechs among the Decepticons. A bunch of freaks under the command of an OCD captain. They only had themselves.

But Whirl pushed him, and Vortex couldn’t resist responding in kind.

“How was his head?” he asked, and earnt confusion.

“His head?” Whirl would have frowned if he still had been able to.

“His brain module, to be precise,” Vortex explained, tone blank on purpose. “If it was me who interrogated him, it would have been missing. I don’t leave a job half-finished.”

Whirl didn’t respond with words. He was fast, faster than Vortex had given him credit for, lashing out with his claws open.

Vortex couldn’t step back, couldn’t dodge the other, but he wasn’t hit.

In front of him shimmered a blue wall, Whirl’s claw resting against it. And behind the heliformer, Trailcutter had lifted an arm.

Of course, Vortex should have thought of that.

Vortex stared at the mech, and Whirl turned around.

“Why did you do that?” he spat, but Vortex didn’t need to ask that question. He knew the answer already.

To keep both heliformers out of trouble, and for Vortex – and Trailcutter himself as there was a time once when they hadn’t been enemies.

“Just leave him, Whirl. I need a drink, and Swerve’s opens in a few minutes. I wanna get a seat before it gets crowded.”

“What? Getting a drink is more important than revenge?”

Whirl was still pushing for a fight, but Trailcutter would be able to defend himself.

They all knew it.

Giving a brief nod, Vortex thanked Trailcutter wordlessly as he rounded them and continued the way to his room.

“You heard him,” Trailcutter’s voice was still audible. “It wasn’t him.”

“Oh, and that makes him innocent and nice?”

“For frag’s sake,” Trailcutter’s resigned tone was still the same than it’d been ages ago. “Can you stop being an aft for one minute?”

After that, Vortex entered the lift, and the pair were out of earshot. He welcomed the silence, with only the ship's systems around, and didn’t meet anyone on the rest of the way.

He was still angry at Onslaught when he reached his quarters, and even though the dark, empty room made him tense, he refused to go to his commander for company.

He wasn’t allowed to mess with Rung - that was what the warning had meant. And he wasn’t allowed to mess with people that messed with him. It all was so annoying.

Heaving air deeply, swinging his legs as he sat on the berth, Vortex stared out of the porthole of his room. Purple plating blocked anything that could have been beyond.

Without second thoughts, Vortex opened a comm-link to the shuttle.

//How long until you’re allowed in?// Vortex didn’t bother with a greeting. Blast Off would welcome it.

//Thirty six hours, that was what Onslaught said twelve hours ago.// The shuttle’s voice didn’t give anything away, a flat tone with no indicators to hidden meanings.

Vortex’ processor was quiet for once.

//So you can come on board tomorrow?// Vortex asked.

//I hope so. I’m getting tired.//

Vortex nodded, even though he knew Blast Off couldn’t see it. He was tired, too, but for a different reason. Slowly, he settled on the berth and offlined his optics.

Minutes passed with their comm-link still hanging open. It was Vortex who eventually broke the silence.

//We could leave the comm open?// He knew Blast Off knew it wasn’t an offer but a plea. They both also knew no one would address it.

//We can do that,// Blast Off said, and Vortex was sure he was glad about it as well.

At least that way they weren’t completely alone.


	5. Blast Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung doesn’t know what to do with Blast Off. Blast Off has to go back to medbay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty
> 
>  _This Chapter_  
>  **Content/Warnings** gen, angst  
>  **Characters:** Rung, Blast Off, First Aid  
>  **Rating:** PG

Blast Off stood, leaning at the berth, his arms crossed.

It was obvious that the shuttle didn’t want to be here, and Rung shifted on his chair.

Or maybe it wasn’t about that?

Blast Off didn’t appear annoyed. His figure was merely there, looking at him with a mid-level bright visor. He was tense, but all of the Combaticons had been.

“Welcome to the Lost Light,” Rung began, aiming to sound light-hearted.

Blast Off gave a brief nod. He still didn’t talk, hadn’t at all since Rung had invited him inside.

Over ten minutes had already passed, and he still didn’t know how the other's voice sounded. Rung suppressed a sigh.

Onslaught hadn’t been wrong when he’d said getting Blast Off to talk would be hard.

“Are you adjusting well? You were outside longer than the others.”

Again merely a nod.

“Why did you stay outside?”

This time, the reaction was a brief shrug. “I came in because the Lost Light was about to quantum jump.”

Rung frowned. “That wasn’t what I asked,” he said, but couldn’t help being surprised by the sophisticated, yet bored voice. It wasn’t what Rung had expected – not that he knew what he’d expected if he was honest.

“It wasn’t,” was all Blast Off said.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired.”

Even Fort Max had been more talkative than this mech, Rung thought, but he wasn’t annoyed. It was a challenge, and there had to be a reason why the shuttle didn’t speak to him.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Another shrug, one sided. “Because our ship was going to fall apart. Because the Lost Light quantum jumped and I had to come in.”

“That’s also not what I meant.” Rung wasn’t sure if the shuttle was misunderstanding him on purpose. Maybe he really was this awkward with people. “Onslaught had told me that you’re not very talkative.”

The shuttle tensed visibly, but the twitch in plates shifting occurred only for a fraction of an astrosecond. Stiff plating covered it up when the gesture merged with his whole unbending appearance, evening out as if it hadn’t happened.

“What else did he say?” Blast Off didn’t sound bothered, but Rung thought he might be. He couldn’t tell for sure.

“Not much. You hold yourself aloof, and don’t like to talk.” Rung looked at him with a tilted head, expecting.

Blast Off didn’t reply for almost a klik. “I see.”

At that, Rung had to grin. “Well, it’s pretty obvious you don’t like it. Is there a reason?”

The shuttle’s shoulders shrugged. “Do I need to talk?”

“That’s why you’re here. I can’t answer the co-captains' qualms when I don’t know anything about you.” Rung smiled, trying to be open and welcoming. Onslaught, Brawl and Vortex had mentioned how they felt threatened on a ship full of former enemies, and he could understand them. Blast Off probably didn’t trust him.

Blast Off didn’t move, only stared in silence.

“We don’t have to talk about you if you don’t want to,” Rung offered. He’d be able to find out a few things that way, still.

Finally, Blast Off gave a positive reaction and nodded. “Okay.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“I-“ Blast Of began and stopped. His head moved slightly, and Rung wondered what it meant. He knew at the shuttle’s next words. “You collect space ship models.”

It was a statement, but also a question, and so Rung responded with an answer. “I like to build them. It takes my mind off things and I can relax.”

“But you’re not a shuttleformer,” Blast Off said, and it didn’t make sense to Rung.

“No, but I can still like them.”

“I suppose you can.”

Rung returned Blast Off’s look, waiting for the shuttle to continue. It took another while until he did.

“What is your alt-mode?” Blast Off wanted to know, and it hadn’t been the first time in his life Rung was asked this question.

“Why is that important?”

“I don’t know.” Blast Off shrugged. “I’m just trying to figure out if your alt-mode relates to space in some other way.”

Rung smiled. “There is no relation between me and space. I just like space ships.”

“I see,” Blast Off said once more, with this blank voice Rung slowly got used to.

The shuttle turned his head towards the porthole, staring outside.

Rung wondered if those questions had been about space, about finding common ground, something to talk about.

“You like space, don’t you?” he asked, looking at what Blast Off looked and trying to find out what the shuttle might see.

“Sometimes.”

“Is that why you stayed outside?” 

From his peripheral vision, Rung saw Blast Off shake his head. “No, not really.”

“Then what was the reason?” Rung needed to know. He needed to tell the co-captains and Ultra Magnus something to explain the shuttle coming in later than the others.

“I-“ Blast Off started, and like before, he stopped. There was tension again, more than seemed usual in the case of this large dark frame. “I’m not supposed to be around people.”

Rung listened closely - to the tone that didn’t change, and the words, the phrasing. It wasn’t right, but he couldn’t figure out why.

“But you have your team, right? You should be around them.”

Blast Off kept looking outside as he shook his head.

“I’m not supposed to be around them either.”

\---

Blast Off walked along the corridor under watchful optics. Heads turned when he passed and conversations dropped to whispers that made him uncomfortable.

Everyone was eyeing him up, and Blast Off could only guess what reputation his team had already. And which reputation he had gained since he hadn’t entered the Lost Light with them.

Onslaught would have made sure that people stayed away from him, but maybe he didn’t need to say much at all. Every person on this ship was an Autobot, and only the Combaticons were something else.

Blast Off suppressed a sigh, and rounded a corridor.

“Mass murderer,” someone hissed in his direction.

Blast Off turned, but only saw a group of four mechs walking away. He couldn’t know who said it.

Tensing, Blast Off tried not to care, but there was this familiar charge building and crawling in his frame.

Something frizzed, making Blast Off stop and look down.

Smoke erupted from his left lower leg near where his cannon was, and he uttered a resigned huff.

Great, the function lock the medics had put on his weapons had just burned out. Installing the locks had been uncomfortable. The two medics had leaned over his legs, tinkering beneath his plating, and had complained that he’d been too tense.

Blast Off didn’t look forward to going back to experience that again. It was only one leg, he could just pretend it didn’t happen.

Clenching his hand to a fist, the shuttle pondered on his options, glad that no one else was in this part of the hallway to see him.

He could just go to his quarters and recharge. He was tired, having not slept much while he was still outside.

But Onslaught could find out. Or someone else on the Autobots’ ship. Blast Off couldn’t know what scanners everyone on here possessed and was able to use.

And maybe, the shuttle pondered, if he went back himself, it would be considered good will.

Blast Off knew Onslaught would approve of that decision, as it might improve the team’s reputation.

Venting another sigh, Blast Off turned, and went back to medbay.

Hopefully no one would question too much what happened to his leg.

\---

After Blast Off had knocked, it took a moment until the medbay door opened. When it did, it was the smaller medic who was badly in need of a polish that greeted him. 

“Oh, hello,” he said, appearing distracted. “Are you okay?”

Blast Off looked down, meeting the blue, dim visor, and wondered if he’d interrupted the other’s recharge. It was late already, and the shuttle would rather be in recharge himself.

“One of the locks you installed malfunctioned.” Blast Off’s tone was even, as always.

“Oh.” The visor brightened for an astrosecond. “Uh, which one was it?” He stepped aside and gestured Blast Off in.

“The left one,” Blast Off replied shortly, and followed the mech to the berth. There was no one else in the room. The other medic must have left already.

“But that was Ratchet’s,” the medic uttered in what could have been surprise. But Blast Off wasn’t sure. He wasn’t good with reading people. “Please sit down. I’ll have a look.”

Blast Off nodded. Settling on the berth, he focused on relaxing, or at least not tensing any more. He didn’t want to be reprimanded again for making people’s work harder than necessary.

“I’m taking the plating off,” the medic warned, and Blast Off braced for the touch. The medic’s hands didn’t tremble or flinch, even when they came near the cannon barrel that was almost as thick as the mech’s lower arm.

“You’re not afraid I'm going to shoot you, now that I have a working weapon?” Blast Off asked, not used to such a calm reaction to his cannons. Even when the locks had been first installed there was a guard by the door.

The medic shrugged. “You came here by yourself. I don’t think you’d shoot me.”

That made sense.

“And,” he continued more quietly, “maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if I were gone.”

This time, it wasn’t the touch that made Blast Off tense. He wasn’t good at social things.

He had the feeling he’d been witness to something that wasn’t for his audials, and he wanted to be somewhere else. Now that was an idea.

“If you don’t want to be here,” Blast Off said, “you can get a shuttle and leave.”

The other raised his head, the visor brighter again. That wasn’t what Blast Off had wanted, he didn’t like the attention.

He gave a one-sided shrug, shifting awkwardly. “I mean I do that? When I want to be somewhere else, I just leave. But I am a shuttle, I guess I have it easier…” He trailed off, his fingers tensing around the edge of the berth. He should have stayed quiet and just pretended he hadn’t heard the other.

The medic stared another few astroseconds, before he thankfully focused on the open mechanisms again.

“Oh my, what happened to your leg?” he muttered.

But Blast Off knew it was only the lock on the weapon functions that were damaged.

“The lock is completely… I don’t know. It’s not rust, but crystallised? Crystallised metal, how…?” The mech stood up and went to a table to get more tools and a replacement.

Blast Off sighed, preparing himself for another hour off waiting and prodding.  
\---

It didn’t take only one hour, but almost two. The medic insisted on checking on the other leg as well, making sure everything was all right, mumbling unintelligible things to himself while doing so.

When he was finally done, Blast Off couldn’t get to his feet fast enough.

“Wait a moment,” the other said, making Blast Off stop and vent deeply as he turned.

“What now?”

This time, the medic flinched, but he came closer anyway. “Here, have some energon. I checked your energy levels, and it looks like you haven’t refuelled since you came on board.”

“Oh.” Blast Off tensed in surprise, taking the cube that was handed to him. He should say something more, but he knew whatever he said would be wrong. He tried anyway. “You look more like you need it.”

The stance of the other changed, and the shuttle knew that, yes, he’d said the wrong thing.

“I’ll refuel later. I need to go through our equipment and condition-check everything.” The medic didn’t sound bothered, but concerned. “We can’t have that happening again. Spare parts that crystallise… That shouldn’t happen in space.”

“I see.” Blast Off didn’t move. He knew that it wasn’t their equipment that was malfunctioning, but he couldn’t tell the other. It still caused a guilty feeling to leave the medic doing this task all night when he already looked like he'd been put through the steel mill. “Maybe you should do that after some rest. It seems to be an important task that demands full focus.”

The medic's face mask moved, but there were no words at first. A few astroseconds passed until he replied with a voice that Blast Off couldn’t read.

“Maybe you’re right.” He nodded. “Yeah, you’re definitely right. I should get some rest.”

At that, Blast Off felt a bit better. At least he didn’t have to load more guilt onto himself because of his mistakes.

“Goodnight then,” he said with a minute nod, and turned again.

“Goodnight,” the medic called after him before the medbay door closed.


End file.
